


the emperor reversed, upright, reversed again

by tieflingenthusiast



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alcohol, Anal Sex, Cunnilingus, Double Penetration, Established Relationship, Established Sylvix and FWB Dimivain and Dimilix, Explicit Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Outdoor Sex, Post-Canon, Squirting, Threesome - M/M/M, Trans Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, Trans Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Trans Male Character, Trans Sylvain Jose Gautier, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:34:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24106807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tieflingenthusiast/pseuds/tieflingenthusiast
Summary: The elaborate dance of political step is one Felix loathes to follow. He needs a chance to relax before he's forced to put up with boring meetings with boring people.Thankfully, Sylvain and Dimitri are around to entertain.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier, Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 12
Kudos: 43





	the emperor reversed, upright, reversed again

**Author's Note:**

> wrote this for a friend who needed the trans Felix and trans Dimi content, and threw in trans Sylv because...... well I like trans Sylv
> 
> content warning wrt use of 'feminine'-coded language for Dimitri and Felix, who are pre-op and non-op respectively. I thiiiiink it mostly only comes up regarding their chests and holes, but be warned if that sort of thing is a problem for you. I myself am trans and only used what I'm comfortable hearing for the most part, but different boundaries for different people and all that.

The latest efforts to stabilise the continent have them far out of Faerghus. Dimitri’s men are en-route to former Hresvelg territories. The ‘Saviour King’ (Dimitri is so bashful about the nickname; it’s amusing to watch him blush and fidget when he hears it) is intent on speaking to what remains of their local government, to supply them with whatever they may need to rebuild and live independently without needing the support of neighbouring counties. Such dull and menial functions… bore the shit out of Felix, quite frankly. He doesn’t want to be here. As Duke Fraldarius, though, it’s his sworn duty to accompany His Majesty wherever he may go. Including to boring meetings in boring provinces for boring, all-talk-no-fighting political deals.

At least Sylvain is here too. On the same horse, in fact! Sat in front of Felix, happy to look back with the occasional grin or wink for his lover.

Yes. Sylvain, rust-red hair sweaty and stuck to his forehead, has graced this mission with the offered service of his silver tongue. He’ll sweet talk the Hresvelg governor should the need arise, and hopefully his suave, sugary words ease the sting of all that’s happened and keep Felix from needing to step in. Because no one wants Felix to step in. When Felix steps in, people inevitably die, for Felix’s edges have yet to soften, and he is still more the Sword than the Shield of Faerghus. A tool of destruction and dominance. He doesn’t negotiate, he cuts through.

So the dear darling heir of Gautier is here to create a balance, dulling Felix’s barbs and smoothing over any jabs he may find himself making. It’s a delicate arrangement, but it works. They’ll get in, they’ll make their peace with the Hresvelgian folk, and they’ll go home.

...When they eventually arrive.

Because the sky is stained in the scarlet and fuschia hues of a warm fall twilight. They’re something like 5 hours out from the last village of Varley by now, so turning tail and camping there for the night is out of the question. They’ll have to find somewhere out here. When it hits him that they’ll end up doing that, Felix starts worrying an already-chapped lip, savouring the sting as he tears dry and dead skin away to expose its raw replacement to the crisp evening air. Fuck. He doesn’t want to deal with sleeping in tents, and especially doesn’t want to deal with it when he’s stuck with Dimitri and Sylvain.

Sylvain complains when you try to make him bed down on anything harder than plush summer grass. There’s a notable lack of any sort of grass on the border of Aegir county. Dimitri, meanwhile, is just Dimitri. He won’t make it worse, but he certainly won’t make it better. He’s just another surface for Sylvain’s whining to bounce off of.

A second to peer at the engagement ring adorning his ungloved hand is a warm reminder of why he puts up with Sylvain’s petty, irritating habits. Felix loves him in all his faults, all his issues, bitchiness, terrible habits.

“We should stop.”

Dimitri glances over from his own steed, running fingers through his own mussed hair. His tiny ponytail is threatening to fall loose. Neither of them bother trying to hold a gaze, rather flicking their eyes over one another’s faces before turning away.

“Here?”

“There’s cover - old buildings around us, if you actually use your eye. It’s pathetic how much you need to be babied sometimes, Dimitri.”

Sylvain elbows him for that one. Felix headbutts the back of his neck. Dimitri, at least having enough brains to pick up on the good-naturedness of Felix’s latest complaint, laughs. A charming sound, warm with the life that’s reinvigorated Dimitri as of late, and one that would have any maiden tittering along with him, any young bachelor swooning. Dimitri is the ideal of the ‘prince charming,’ and it only took becoming king to get him here.

The lot of them stop, dismounting from their steeds and securing them where they can. The soldiers split off, relaxing, into their smaller friend groups. Dimitri and Sylvain are the farthest from strict commanders as one can get, happy to let their men mingle and have a bit of fun. His skin itches at the thought of socialising with these rowdy folk, and so off Felix goes alone, calling out some flimsy excuse of patrol.

He never gets peace. Sylvain follows like day follows night. Dimitri trails him too, and the cosmic irony refuses to let itself be lost on Felix. All those years following the little prince, going everywhere he went, and as an adult he can’t get a second’s peace from him now that their friendship is rekindled.

Whatever. Could turn out interesting.

Felix hoists himself up onto a crumbling wall some distance from the soldiers, tilting back his head to stare off at the stars. They’re barely-there, masked by sickly storm clouds that steadily roll overhead. He’s guessing they have something like half an hour before the clouds burst. It’s best for them to set up camp ASAP.

“Tell your underlings to make themselves useful and pitch their tents.”

He doesn’t need to look to know it, but still he does. Sure enough, Sylvain is grinning, the crease of his eyebrows and curl of his lip betraying the immense filth his mind cooks up.

“I shouldn’t even need to say it, but  _ not like that. _ ”

Insatiable as ever, that man. It’s cute in its own way.

“Should we not assist them?” asks Dimitri, expression sickeningly earnest as ever. The sheen of sweat from their march has his rosy cheeks glistening, and that has the faint freckles across them  _ popping _ , highlighted in dreamy pink and bordered by lacelike scars and deep dimples. He’s disgustingly beautiful.

Less beautiful right now is Sylvain, one hand preoccupied with trying to itch down the back of his pants, the other helping him take a gulp from what must be by now a lukewarm waterskin. “Water” skin. It’s not water, they all know it’s not water. Sylvain has a thing about plain water, and one will never see him savour water like he savours his drink of choice for the evening.

“Not tonight. We’ll hand off the alcohol - no Sylvain, you weren’t at all subtle loading up with the rest of that shit - and let them have a night to themselves so long as they can be presentable by the morning. I’ve some entertainment in mind for us, separate to any they’ll partake in.”

Dimitri blinks, not catching on. Sylvain chokes on the mouthful of mead.

“Entertainment,  _ tonight? _ ” he rasps, before breaking down into coughs that have him slumping against the wall Felix perches on.

“Entertainment,” he repeats, crooking his leg around Sylvain’s neck. Automatically, Sylvain cuddles up to his calf, one hand snaking upward to boldly brush across Felix’s thigh. He pinches at taut flesh, rubs circles over worn fabric, then goes a step further and puts his mouth to it. Sylvain’s suckling lips and eager tongue wet the fabric long before Felix gets the chance to. Felix grins a smug, filthy grin, the likes of which usually would never be seen twisting his hard-lined and stoic face. “Tonight. We’re all adults here, and another night of planning and politics is going to kill me. Too boring. It’s not like the two of you haven’t been thinking about it, is it? We’ve already discussed it.”

He drags a hand through Sylvain’s matted mane, pulling at his scalp and earning a satisfied purr. Good. The way that Dimitri’s eye is trained on how Felix expertly torments Sylvain is as unsubtle as the man himself’s enthusiasm. Gone is any shock or hesitation. He’s melted and remolded himself into exactly what Felix is fancying right now. And Dimitri is mystified with it. He swallows hard.

“I would not wish to be improper, for - I mean… ah, to intrude into a marriage bed, that cannot be very… kingly of a man, can it? I wouldn’t want to cause any discomfort.”

“Not an intrusion if you’re invited,” shoots back Sylvain. “An’ it’s safe to call this an invitation, Your Majesty.”

There’s a crack. Dimitri always cracks his knuckles when he’s nervous. It started as wringing his hands when they were young, and now it’s cracking. He’s nervous. That’s no good.

“You don’t have to. We’ll carry on regardless, but if you’re uncomfortable you’re free to join your men for the night instead. It’s not like we’ll take offence.”

Yeah, Dimitri will be missing out, but that’s his problem. Felix doesn’t care.

“Just make up your mind quickly, I don’t care to be kept waiting.”

“Of course! Er, rather - it would be the greatest of honours to join you gentlemen in your sexual activities.”

Dimitri smiles his boyish smile, the corner of his eye crinkling in that joyous way it does when he’s really, genuinely happy. It’s that way that he looked when Felix first began using his name again. A pure, innocent kind of happiness that suits him well. It brings out the kindness and the hope so natural to him, yet that was long-thought lost. Even Felix can’t bring himself to roll his eyes at the look.

“Don’t say it like that, you make it sound so…  _ formal. _ ”

Complaining is a mistake. Complaining is such a mistake, because it gives Sylvain the chance to be a shithead. Head merrily wedged between Felix’s legs, he grins up and opens his accursed mouth to spout some of his patented Sylvain garbage.

“Is it not the most formal of occasions, my love? To find oneself going to bed with a king? In all his, uh… kingliness?”

He’s spot on in his imitation of Dimitri’s speech style, which would be great if inaccuracy was the thing that was annoying about him right now.

“Syl _ vain _ ,” Felix whines, failing to sound nearly as angry as he’d like to pretend he is. “If you’re planning on talking like that all night, I’ll be the one skipping to go drink with the guards.”

All three of them know he won’t do that. Sylvain snickers, though he’s abruptly cut off when Felix squeezes him between his thighs. Laughter turns to a drawn out, pleasure-laced groan that lingers in the air. Its aftermath is heavy, enticing. Felix squeezes a little harder.

Poor Dimitri stares on, face burning a brighter pink than a Goneril’s hair. Felix finally frees Sylvain, whose protesting whine is walking the fine line of pathetic and erotic. He clings when his beloved tries to shake him off. That tips the scales toward pathetic.

“Right. Up with you, then.”

Rising, Felix doesn’t let the opportunity to grind down against Sylvain’s face pass by. A final reward before he shrugs him off and gets back on his feet. Sylvain sighs blissfully, and Felix stands, hands on hips, his handsy fiancé still eagerly stroking the soft inner parts of his well-muscled legs.

“Up.”

With a whine, Sylvain rises and brushes dirt and dust from himself. He’s rewarded for his good behaviour. Felix is far from heartless, after all. Sylvain gets a quick and impassioned brush of dry lips across his unshaven jaw, dragging their way up to ghost over his own before pulling away too fast, too soon. Then a slap on the ass for good measure.

“Both of you, go see to it that the soldiers don’t come disturbing us unless we’re under attack. Grab what you’ve prepared as well, Sylvain. I know how this will happen.”

It’s an inevitability that Sylvain preps for certain activities whenever they’re out on a march. Always has, and likely always will. Felix used to find it kind of stupid. He’d bring oil, protection, and all sorts of  _ items _ with him no matter the situation. Granted, it didn’t take too long for him to change his tune about it after a demonstration of the positives.

“You got it, baby.”

Chipper smile adorning his face, Sylvain slinks over to Dimitri and locks their arms together.

“C’mon, Your Majesty. There’s some little, uh… specifics that I need to get worked out with you anyhow. Fe, you gonna-?”

“I’ll be ready when you get back. Don’t keep me waiting, or I’ll make sure you pay for it.”

Already he’s unbuckling his boots and dropping his outermost cloak. Dimitri stammers over nothing as he watches, only to be led away by Sylvain. While they disappear, Felix catches him breaking into a light jog. Eager. He likes that.

A cursory glance to make sure none of the soldiers have wandered over nearby, and when sure the coast is clear in that he doesn’t immediately lay eyes on some poor man who’s wandered out of the fold to take a piss, Felix strips away the rest of his clothes with unmatched hustle, lays out his cloak and coat on the dry earth below, and reclines.

Now, he’s never been one for presentation. Elegance is far from what he aims for in his life. Felix’s priorities are strength and results. Here he lays anyway, legs folded like some coy and dainty maiden, dark hair splaying out beneath him. One arm is tangled beneath the nightblack waves, the other lower, drumming against the small pouch of fat that sits on the lower half of his stomach.

_ You’re making me wait, Sylvain. _

The thought flutters idly across his mind. How boring it is, to be kept waiting! To have to lay untouched, waiting for those fools to get their asses into gear. There may be many a man or maid who’d await their lover’s touch with patient contentment, but that is just...  _ not  _ Felix.

Which is why he deftly slips that hand on his stomach down and lets it navigate its way to his dick. He stifles his first gasp, rolling the swollen, half-hard head between his finger and thumb. He teases his way to arousal, then dips lower still. A brush of chalky, calloused fingertips between his folds quickly confirms that he’s already soaked. Like he didn’t already know it. He sighs, driving one finger, then two inside and jerking his hips up.

As Sylvain and Dimitri return, they’re welcomed by the sight of Felix fucking himself on his fingers.

“What were you doing over there?” He spits in an accusatory tone. “You kept me waiting, and I. Hate. Waiting.”

“Felix, don’t be such a brat...”

If anyone were to mistake this for Sylvain keeping his cool, they’d be an idiot. All supplies in his arms are dropped, abandoned for Dimitri to awkwardly pick up. His words crack and falter with every new syllable, ending by trailing off in a dreamy tone, entirely consumed in his own carnal feelings and only kept from pouncing on Felix by the vaguest sense of decency. He drops to his knees, crawling on all fours up to Felix, where he throws himself on his nude lover’s form.

Felix laughs a dark laugh as Sylvain’s hands find his breasts, as his lips find his neck. Ever the rough sort, he wrestles a more than willing Sylvain down onto his back, sits astride him and rocks his hips against his man’s dust-stained shirt. He’s bucking up against the bottom of his breastplate, feeling peculiar but not entirely dissatisfied.

Sticky, salty fingers are jammed roughly into Sylvain’s mouth, and he gulps once, twice. Sylvain savours his taste, more than his mead, more than a good meal. The wide-blown pupils and dripping, occupied mouth are a handsome look for him. He gets Felix thinking that he wants to choke on the battered digits. It could be the case.

His large hands stay stuck firm to Felix’s chest. With lover’s patience and eye, detailed attention is paid to every scar, every bruise, every blemish. Each loving trace across Felix’s pale skin earns him fingers driving further down his gullet. Sylvain caresses his beloved until his own eyes prick with tears, perhaps from the choking but more likely from the divine sight of the man sat atop him. Between gasps for air he manages to spit familiar compliments.  _ Gorgeous. Ravishing. The best out there.  _ While the last is admittedly a weak one, Felix grins. He always wants to be the best. A reward is delivered when he rips his fingers from Sylvain’s mouth, replacing them with the bruising force of his own mouth crashing down against him.

Here is where Sylvain turns his attention to Felix’s nipples. The pads of his thumbs are dragged in soothing circles around the brown borders of the areolas, only occasionally breaching to play with the buds. Felix hums his approval into Sylvain’s mouth, rewarding him with a grind down against his ribs, spreading more of his own slick across the fabric. When Sylvain teasingly pinches, he savours the little gasp that slips from Felix. A shallow, startled sort of sound. It ends with a warning growl that stokes the fire in Sylvain’s belly. The anticipation of the ‘punishment’ he’ll earn for pushing that warning.

Again he pinches, and he rolls and he squeezes for good measure. Felix gasps a  _ fuck  _ into his mouth and rocks harder against him. Sylvain’s thoughts find and stick on the gathering wet seeping through his first few layers. The musky scent of it up close. The tang of it, a taste he’s explicitly intimate with from time and time again of putting his tongue to use.

He needs it again, or he’ll surely die. He’ll die wanting. Burned up by the immeasurable, heavy, dank heat of his own desire. He’ll drown not in Felix, but in the lack of him. Sylvain needs him.

“Listen,” comes out on a ragged breath as Felix catches his lip between his teeth. “I know it ain’t the plan, but I’m  _ hungry _ , doll. Can I-?”

Wordless permission comes when Felix bends his body over, dragging his face far from Sylvain’s and instead presenting his twitching dick and dripping slit to the idiot’s desperate mouth. Artful and practiced in his contortion, he smiles a secret smile for a starstruck Dimitri before his attention snaps back to the lovely, salivating form of Sylvain.

The scratches from when, unprepared, Sylvain’s nails dig into Felix’s breasts as they’re torn from his hands is silently blissful. A stabbing, stinging sensation not truly kicking in until it’s already over, that makes every other feeling all that more intense. Felix whistles approval through the gap in his chipped teeth where they don’t quite fit together anymore.

His dearest’s response to his shift is instantaneous, and Sylvain laps and sucks and buries himself in Felix without a thought or care. Wet lips curl around Felix’s tiny prick and eagerly suck, Every miniscule spasm of Sylvain’s lips, every slight change in pressure sends waves of fiery ecstasy shooting through Felix’s nerves. The cry it rips from his throat can’t be stifled. It echoes out uninhibited.

Grinning with teeth sunk into his lower lip, he rolls his hips clumsily and tries to sink himself deeper into Sylvain’s mouth. Sylvain accepts him as far as he can, gladly taking everything thrown his way. It’s a battle of endurance far too stacked in Sylvain’s favour. Sometimes, though, Felix doesn’t mind a loss. Sometimes.

So soon does the end come that Felix can only pitifully whine when the air hits him again, when Sylvain’s mouth abandons his dick and slips away. The compensation is that he promptly sinks his face into Felix’s folds instead, lips parting so an enthusiastic tongue can wriggle its way into his depths. Felix hisses. Sylvain’s wandering hands finally rejoin the play, one taking over delivering tiny, too-fast strokes to Felix’s dick before it can get too lonely, and the other disappearing down his own pants to wake himself up.

Eyes misty, Felix follows Sylvain’s selfish hand down to where he sees that familiar glow, followed by the tenting of Sylvain’s trousers. A swift stroke to get himself lively has left him sporting an impressive erection. Familiar to Felix, and yet the thought of what’s to come gets him shuddering.

The sight, the sensations, even just the smell of Sylvain so close is overwhelming. It’s nothing new. Nothing he hasn’t seen before, bar the extra eye on them. Nonetheless, it’s enough to tip Felix over the edge, and he feels himself clench and seize and  _ leak _ . Sylvain makes a typical Sylvain noise in response. He’s never not proud when he gets Felix to finish, no matter how easily it may come to him by now. Pulling back, he licks his lips to savour any wayward spoils from Felix’s climax.

It’s endearing how he’s such a slut for his man’s juices. He doesn’t even attempt to hide the fact, instead diving right back in without a second thought. The prodding tongue and smacking lips are overpowering in the way that gets tears pricking the corners of Felix’s eyes. So much, so fast, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t love it.

Vision still swimming, Felix turns his gaze upon Dimitri, fighting to remind himself that they have a guest who will also need tending to soon.

Down, hunched on bended knee, His Majesty is carefully setting down all that he’d been carrying. He lays out a comfortable spread, and when satisfied he steals a bashful glance at the lovers before looking away. He sets about unbuttoning his shirt.

“Well, Dimitri? Are you - gh, going to just stand there the whole time? Aah, fuck-“

Groaning, Felix props himself up on an elbow to better heckle his king.

“You’re a part of this. Get ooover - shit, shit - Get. Over here already.”

Probably would have been more effective if Sylvain had taken even a second’s respite while Felix spoke. But no, he’s more than happy to indulge and drown in Felix to near-suffocation, even if his indulgence should rob Felix of his smarmy air.

With one so earnest and simple as Dimitri, though, the lack of bite to his commands means nothing.

Jolting like he’s been struck, Dimitri hurries along with unbuttoning his shirt before tossing it to the side. Felix, still only half-lost to the ecstasy of Sylvain’s expert tongue work, whistles an impressed note.

Armour stripped away and bindings abandoned, Dimitri’s breasts hang free for both of his fellow men to take in… Or would, if there was any chance of Sylvain looking up right now.

His breasts dwarf Felix’s in size, sagging with stretch mark-pocked skin. Fine golden hair and ragged, grey-white scars decorate the thin skin between them, particularly deep wounds extending in some places across them, leaving an in-folded dent or two.

He’s filled out, as well; Felix has seen his naked body before, in wartime, and no longer do his ribs protrude and his sternum show. A healthy layer of fat has come back to him, further bulking his already-enormous frame. Incredible muscles twitch and shift beneath his skin as he moves.

Dimitri is handsome as ever, annoyingly, and more skin on display only further confirms the notion.

“Oi.” Felix jabs a knee against Sylvain, knocking him off his rhythm. “This isn’t Sylvain’s exclusive stripshow. Get out of your armour, I want to see you.”

Sylvain purrs, pressing a final kiss to Felix’s vulva before resurfacing and licking his lips for good measure.

“Aw, babe, do you think I’m sexy? I’m flattered.”

He’s so fucking insufferable.

“...Changed my mind.”

A snap of his fingers, and Felix points over at Dimitri.

“Hey. He’s being a pain. Put that strength of yours to good use. Rip him out of those filthy clothes.”

Dimitri’s eye bulges.

“Felix, goodness! I couldn’t possibly-”

“Oh no, do it. Go right ahead, Your Majesty!”

Scrambling back to his feet, Sylvain saunters to Dimitri’s side and throws his arms up behind his head, granting easy access. The bastard hasn’t even wiped his mouth! From where he lays, quivering, Felix can see the evidence of his own slick spread across the lower half of Sylvain’s face, even trickling steadily down his chin. He squeezes his thighs together.

“I cannot ruin your clothes, Sylvain! We have a formal council in just a scant few days!”

To some, it may be a compelling point.

To Sylvain, it’s something to shrug at as he retorts with “Yeah, and I have all my fancy-schmancy clothes packed up on one of the other horses, so there’s no issue!”

And so, easier than expected, Dimitri gives in. If his eager expression and feisty movements are anything to go off of, it would seem that he’s not quite as reserved about this as he’d tried to seem just seconds ago. He practically tackles Sylvain. Effective is his method of catching him between his knees, and with his prey so helpless it’s hardly an effort to peel away his cuirass and pauldron. With barely an ounce of his strength, at that. Sylvain laughs.

The laughter grows more giddy as Dimitri rips his way through fabric. It tears with as little resistance as tissue paper, leaving Sylvain bare as Felix in no time flat. He lays on the tattered heap of what was once his outfit, beaming up at rosy-cheeked Dimitri.

“Your - no. Dimitri, may I?”

A hand raised to curl around the back of Dimitri’s neck, pulling him in closer. Felix, suddenly so far from the action, can do nothing but imagine the familiar feeling of Sylvain’s stubble against his skin and ache for it. So recently had he felt it, but now that he sees Dimitri experiencing the itching, irritating scrape of auburn whiskers rather than him, he craves it like he craves air. Dimitri draws Sylvain in to kiss him, and the tusk-like canines of his underbite stab into Sylvain’s upper lip, eliciting little gasps and sighs from him.  _ He _ wants to be the one to draw those sounds, and to have them drawn from him by Dimitri.

Felix doesn’t think of himself as greedy, per se, but watching this display, watching Sylvain’s hands grope for Dimitri’s breasts and Dimitri’s hips falling flush to Sylvain’s own, he’s struck with the unquestionably selfish desire for their hands to be all over  _ him _ , not each other.  _ He _ wants to be the one drowned in sensation. Complete control, complete care, complete.

The solution is a simple one - he drags his trembling body up into a standing position, and he advances.

Dimitri is surprised by the arms that slip around him. He’s embraced from behind and feels Felix’s full weight press down on his back. Not much, admittedly, though he savours the gentle squish of breasts against him. Those petite hands of Felix’s find their way to sitting comfortably beneath Dimitri’s own breasts, which Sylvain is still busy fondling. Nails drive into the thin, sweat-slick skin, and a moan rattles out from him against Sylvain’s lips.

Only now does Dimitri start to think about how it’s not Sylvain alone in his mouth, but Felix too. Sylvain’s saliva and Felix’s juices mix to form a peculiar texture, not unlike the fine honeys that Dedue offers him, the ones that come from the small plot where he and Ashe have begun keeping bees. It’s a good texture. Thick and viscous, something that can’t be ignored, yet at the same time light and pleasant. Dimitri laments his lack of taste only for how he is deprived of knowing the flavour of Felix’s sex. Surely it is a wondrous one, he thinks. He imagines sweetness, then saltiness, then a mix of the two.

The fantasy of their flavours is torn away by the sharp sensation of pinched nipples. Playful as ever, Sylvain has caught Dimitri between his fingers and is testing his limits with pressure. Grasping and groping is left to Felix. Felix, who in his own troublesome, aggressive way, shows Dimitri more affection here than he has since they were children. His mouth finds its way to Dimitri’s neck, sucking and biting while Sylvain’s kisses turn more tender. The two of them work in magnificent harmony against Dimitri’s skin.

It’s just. So. Much.

When Dimitri breathlessly asks them to stop, both move off right away. No snark from Felix. Only Sylvain checking in. It’s embarrassing, really, to admit that one has become overstimulated, but neither of them make a jab at him for it.

“D’you wanna stop proper?” checks Sylvain.

He’s making no secret of his own arousal by now, but the offer is still sincere. Dimitri shakes his head.

“I would prefer… focus on another. Just for now.”

At least until the ache of his lust cools off. He doesn’t do this often enough to be used to it.

“Me, then.” intrudes Felix. “I know what I want from this.”

Having already backed off from Dimitri, he offers both hands to help his men back up. The three of them stand there, stark naked, and Felix smiles an uncharacteristically sincere smile.

“I want you both.”

Sylvain cannot hide the excitement that sparks through him with those words. He bounces and rocks on his heels. Dimitri stares, slower on the uptake.

“I... beg your pardon? ‘Both?’”

“At once. I don’t imagine it will be too difficult. If you’re willing, of course. Otherwise forget it.”

Felix shrugs. His hand is still on Dimitri’s, and he rubs his thumb over the surface in so soft a gesture that Dimitri’s heart leaps. Still, there’s no pressure to what he does. If Dimitri’s limit has been reached, then he calmly accepts it as the case.

Ever the bastard, Sylvain decides he’ll interrupt Felix’s care for Dimitri with some exceptionally petty banter.

“Gosh, Felix. I thought  _ I _ was the slutty one here. You really think you’re man enough for that, huh?”

Oh no, Sylvain teasing. Felix can’t back down from Sylvain teasing. Not that he intended to in the first place, but now he double can’t. It’s become a matter of pride as well as desire.

Sidling up to Sylvain, he stands toe-to-toe with his fiancé and sneers as he keeps talking.

“‘Cause I don’t think you can do it. I’ve already made you cum once tonight, so what’s stopping me doing it again? Huh? You’ll be screaming ‘ah, ah! Fuck me harder Sylvain, you’re so cool and your dick is so big!’ before His Majesty even finishes oiling up the royal strap. And you’ll love eeevery second of it, won’tcha?”

“I think I know what I can handle, Gautier. Shouldn’t it be you we worry for? I’d wager that if anyone’s screaming by the end of this, it’ll be you. Probably for that ‘royal strap,’ or perhaps... something... less... kingly?”

Leaning in close, Felix is up on tiptoes now to just barely stand matching height with Sylvain.

“Anyway. we’ll see soon enough, won’t we? Get yourself ready.”

“Isn’t that my line? You’re the one-”

“Oh trust me, I’m  _ well _ -prepared for this.”

Felix doesn’t slack on these things.

Agonising is the wait that lasts mere minutes, where boundaries are talked through and arrangements are made. Crude it may be to talk about, but Felix has his preferences of who goes where. He knows what he likes for himself, and he knows what he can handle, and to be blunt…

With the size of the strap they settle on for Dimitri, he’d rather not push his luck by taking that up the ass. Which leaves Dimitri assigned to what Sylvain is happily proclaiming as ‘pussy duty.’

The familiar is chosen to begin with. That is, Sylvain and his literal magic dick.  It’s always impressive, always a sight to marvel at in Felix’s opinion. Aesthetically and sexually. The work of Gautier’s surgeons and clerics is artful, beautiful even. Dark, flushed flesh decorated with thick veins and flecks of violet, shining in the warm light of the setting sun. Sylvain’s own garish addition of piercings on the head glint as well, like trying to remind Felix that they’re there. As if he’ll forget. Along the underside runs a vein of magic, difficult to spot for any who don’t know what they’re looking for but as known to Felix as the map of freckles across Sylvain’s nose. Much like his insatiability, it’s cute in its own way.

And then it’s gone, covered by scraped-up knuckles as Sylvain protects and oils himself.

He knows Felix likes control, which gets him sitting himself down on the comfortable little area Dimitri has set up and spreading, leaving himself pointing up and ready for Felix to do as he pleases. Dimitri kneels beside Sylvain, fiddling with the straps of the harness that barely fasten around the bulk of his toned thighs. Felix rubs himself with oil, impatience prompting him to go fast and thorough. Neither of his men complain as he finishes off and strides, triumphant, to stand over Sylvain.

“Hey, handsome. Lookin’ pretty slick there.”

“Shut up, Sylvain. Hold still.”

Felix turns away from him and squats, careful as he can be, spreading pale legs and paler, finely-fuzzed cheeks to present to Sylvain as he drops. It’s improper to stare, yet this whole thing is rather improper, leaving Dimitri unhindered by grace and class and instead staring with a wide, wondrous eye at the sight that isn’t even meant for him. Cream skin with oily sheen, damp and dripping fine midnight hair, a gentle rosy hue fading dark to shiny salmon. Before Felix even touches down on Sylvain there’s a low hum of approval, and no one knows or cares which of the three of them made it.

There’s a hypnotic bob to Felix’s behind as he steels himself, faking out once, then twice, then thrice before finally going for it and dropping down onto Sylvain. The sight of himself disappearing up Felix’s ass gets Sylvain twitching. Tiny keening sounds slip from Felix’s throat as he clenches. Sylvain coos.

“That’s it, Fe. You got it. You’re such a fucking talent, babe. I could watch you slide like that all day.”

“Don’t fucking patronise me.  _ Move. _ ”

Sylvain gets himself into gear, and Felix shifts, laying back, laying atop Sylvain who responds right away. His hands coil around Felix’s midsection, holding him close. He presses open-mouthed kisses to the back of his neck. Felix sighs his approval.

“Okay. Dimitri. Get over here and show me that brute strength of yours.”

Flustered, Dimitri knee-walks around to Felix’s front and hurriedly positions himself.

“Here?”

“No, in my fucking ear. Of course there. And hurry it up. Sylvain, hold still a second.”

Sylvain stops on command. Dimitri shuffles in closer. The tip of the strap teases around Felix’s hole, gets him huffing and growling in his impatience.

“Put it in -  _ Now. _ ”

Dimitri would ask if he’s sure, but the intense look in Felix’s dark eyes is enough to tell him that he is. So forward he slides, slotting in easy. The sight of Dimitri disappearing into him reminds Felix of slotting an especially nice sword into a well-fitting sheath. They go well together. 

It takes the iron taste of blood to get Dimitri realising that how he’s set his jaw for concentration has got a tusk piercing his lip. He doesn’t mind. Large, trembling hands reach out to run ragged thumbs over the smooth plains of Felix’s spread thighs. A bruise blooms at the drip between thigh and netherregion, undoubtedly Sylvain’s doing. Dimitri traces it delicate as he can, and Felix cries out.

“Okay - fuck, okay, both. Both of you. Get moving. I want to  _ feel _ this.”

Both roll once, far from in-sync, and the pressure of it - the stretch, the squeeze, the total fullness - rips an undignified moan from Felix. Loud and unrestrained and utterly joyous.

“Fuck, fuck - ! Do that - that  _ again-! _ ”

They do. Sylvain lifts, and Dimitri rolls, and Felix squirms, falling apart between them. It’s more than he’d expected, clearly, and he’s loving every second of it. Sylvain pushes forward. Fire shoots through Felix, burning and beautiful. Dimitri pushes forward. Felix’s hips are lifted, and he savours the shock that coils in his belly when all support is gone from his lower body.

His legs lock around Dimitri’s broad back, grasping for even the slightest support. Dimitri puts hands on him, giving kind reassurance that he won’t let Felix drop. Felix tries to draw Dimitri in closer, closer still, to pull him in close and never let him go. The same to Sylvain. He presses his back down flat against his fiancé’s chest. Having Sylvain as close to him as possible is the thing he needs most in the world.

Death will surely come and swallow him up if he loses either of them. They need to be close, best friend and lover and him, the one who deserves no tender touch or kind word. None of this should go to one who lives as a tool. ...And it does, anyway. 

For Felix is not the Shield yet. No longer the Sword, either. Felix is a man and that is all, and he is entitled to indulge now and then.

“Hey - go fa- _ a-aster _ . Both of you-!”

His men are nothing if not obedient. They rock harder against him and double down on their pace. Felix is screaming, throat dry and hoarse, surely heard by all the troops camping just fifty or so feet away. They’re not even on the fringes of his thoughts, let alone a real concern of his. Let them hear! He’ll dare them to speak of it if he must. They won’t do it!

Back in the moment where his blank mind currently resides, Felix’s cries last until he has no strength for them. From there they’re trailing off, replaced by yelps and whimpers. Sylvain is saying something to Dimitri, though the sound is so distant from Felix’s headspace that he can’t decipher a word of it. Steady hands cup his breasts, steady rhythms carry him through his pleasure. Felix feels the build up of sweet pressure and, as Dimitri drives into him again, it spills out from him in a familiar gush. He shudders again, and again, and Sylvain leans down to kiss his sweat-drenched hair.

“You’re wonderful, you’re doing amazing. You know that, right? Goddess, Felix, you’re so fucking tough.”

Dimitri stays quiet, but squirms in such a way that angles his strap further in. Felix cries out with no voice left, heaving with dry sobs as Sylvain shifts beneath him, grunting.

“You - Take five,” Felix manages to gasp out at Dimitri. “but Sylvain, stay.”

Finally Dimitri pulls out, his strap dripping not with oil, but with Felix. The latter’s legs are all but boneless, which makes it an easy enough task for Dimitri to slip away and collect himself. He doesn’t go far, shifting to sit back on his behind while still facing Felix. He fiddles again with the straps of the harness, giving up on the side that hasn’t managed to stay fastened throughout this and peeling the whole thing away.

Unwilling to take a breather, Felix grinds down against Sylvain, who howls and bucks back with the pleasure of it. Pressure, greater than earlier builds again, and shameless Felix rams three fingers into himself to take over in Dimitri’s absence.

Dimitri sits back and watches, entranced, taking the time to tentatively stroke himself to the sight. In the glimpses of life outside of his personal pleasure bubble he gets, Felix watches him right back. Is it strange that he notes to himself how he doesn’t delve inside, how he makes no indication he’s ever going to? It’s just a bit of information. Something to keep in mind for when the focus falls on their king.

Thoughts of Dimitri are snapped away when Sylvain moves again, knowing the perfect way to shift to get the response he wants. And oh, get it he does.. Felix hisses and digs further into himself, disregarding his spectator, disregarding his lover, disregarding everything but the feeling of being full. Full. Full to bursting. He does just that, cumming hard in Sylvain’s favourite display and squirting, spraying forward with enough force that he splatters Dimitri’s stomach.

“Thaaaat’s it, Fe. You let it all out, you’re so perfect, my hero.”

Sylvain coos more encouragement, turning to unintelligible whispers and then to grunts as he himself finishes. Any spill of his is caught up in that protection he had the foresight to wear, and he eases himself out of Felix with extra care. A final kiss to Felix’s shoulder, and Sylvain rolls him over to so that they lay torso on torso.

“Hey, handsome. Have fun?”

“Told you I’d handle it fine.” spits Felix triumphantly, before his head lolls forward and, bar the rise and fall of his chest, he goes still against Sylvain. Sylvain laughs, propping himself up to look at Dimitri.

“I think he’s done, Your Majesty. ‘Least for now.”

“You two can keep going… I’ll rest and join you later.”

A final sputter of consciousness from Felix before he rolls off of Sylvain, content to sleep naked and damp in the dirt. Sylvain is endeared to the sight. Dimitri stifles a small laugh.

**Author's Note:**

> the funniest thing about this is I hc Felix as ace and almost totally uninterested in the horny, yet literally none of my content of him has ever reflected that


End file.
